


and you, you will be queen

by Sinope



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Julian Devorak, Cock & Ball Torture, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sub Julian Devorak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope
Summary: We could steal time, just for one day.We can be heroes, forever and ever.A smutty, kinky bonus scene set within the bonus scene of Chapter XIII.  Features an Apprentice who is AFAB, though not explicitly gendered.





	and you, you will be queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> 1) In this fic, the Apprentice is happily poly with both Julian and Asra, but Asra doesn’t appear in person.
> 
> 2) Various elements (including safeword negotiation and Magic Birth Control) happen offstage; everything is fully consensual.
> 
> 3) The beginning and end dialogue are taken from the game and are Not Mine, though I’ve adapted them a bit.

_You’re floating in a starry void._

_This must be a dream. You drift vaguely downwards, buoyed in a peaceful haze. There’s something you should be worried about, but right now, everything seems far away._

_Your feet touch a solid surface. You find yourself standing on an island of stardust — and you’re not alone. You sense a familiar presence behind you._

_It’s Julian, standing on another island. He’s staring off into the distance, looking confused. If the plan worked… then he’d be at the boundary between realms. Here, where you are. You call out, but though the void swallows your voice, he turns. He reaches out to you, across the gulf. Your islands are drifting apart, but maybe… maybe you can reach him._

_When you take his hand, he pulls you in, until you’re both standing on the same sparkling plane. He stares at you. “Is… is it really you?”_

_You could ask him the same thing. You touch his cheek; his skin is cool, but solid under your fingers. The scene at the market — his **death** — seems a world away. For now, this is reality._

_“I’m glad to see you,” he says. “See, I keep meaning to ask you a question. And I… even now, I still want to know the answer. Where, uh. Where do you see us going? I mean, I say ‘we,’ a-and we’ll be together, I hope, but… I don’t know if I ever figured out… where to go. Who to be. The adventurer, or the neighborhood hero? So I guess I’m asking… what do you think, when you think of us? What kind of future do you want?”_

_You consider the question, and then you realize that there’s a question buried underneath: a question that you’re not even sure that Julian — clever, reckless Julian — realizes he’s asking._

_He’s putting his future in your hands. He’s giving you control over who he is, who he’ll be. And he’s asking,_ Will you take that control from me?

_Luckily for you both, the answer to that question is easy. You smile, with a hint of steel to make Julian blush, and say, “A life as neighborhood heroes. A life where you’re **mine**.”_

* * *

You blink, and you’re back at your shop. The warmth and comfort of _home_ surrounds you.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Julian ducks to get in through the door, and swoops down to kiss your cheek. “How was business?”

You shrug. “Winterseve brings all the tourists, you know how it is. How about you?”

“Ah, busy day. The entire Parthari family came down with food poisoning. We narrowed it down to some contaminated fish. They’ll be fine, they just need water and rest. I dropped in to see Verga, you know, the cordwainer? She said her knee felt as good as new. She promised us a sweetheart deal on this season’s shoes — or any of her _other_ leather goods.”

You grin at Julian. Verga’s back room selection is famous among a certain clientele, and you look forward to splurging on some new toys.

“And, say, want to drop by the palace tomorrow?” he continues. “Pasha’s got the day off. We can stop by for dinner, have a nice holiday meal.”

“I’d love to, Julian.” You set down the silk charm that you’ve been fiddling with, stand up, and sashay toward him. “But for tonight, I believe we had other plans.”

His expression looks torn between smirking and blushing, but finally settles on the former. “And we’ve got the shop to ourselves? No Asra tonight?”

“No Asra,” I nod. The three of you get along well these days — _very_ well, on a few memorable occasions — but Asra, for all his wisdom, doesn’t quite understand your relationship with Julian. He doesn’t understand the possessiveness, the hunger to be not merely wanted but needed by another. He doesn’t understand the ways that pain can intensify pleasure, when it’s given and received with full consent. He loves you, as you love him, but some things are simpler to do without him around.

Asra’s departures used to feel bitter with frustration, with wondering why you weren’t allowed to follow. But these days, though you miss him when he’s gone, you also relish having the shop to yourselves. These days, Asra’s absence means that you can take the time to make Julian your own.

* * *

Some time later, and some clothes fewer, the air has begun to thicken with sweat and hot breaths. All around the two of you, the intangible prickle of sexual energy has been building to a peak.

“You’re squirming,” you say, letting a note of disapproval sharpen your voice. It’s enough to make Julian freeze motionless, a blush staining his cheeks below his blindfold. “Much better,” you say, and smile.

(You love this about him — his responsiveness to the slightest hint, positive or negative — even as you shiver at the power he gives you over him.)

He’s so beautiful like this, displayed for your pleasure. His arms rise taut above his head, wrists tied together and fastened to the headboard, ankles bound to a spreader bar that keeps his knees bent and splayed around his cock. No clothes, of course, but he’s not naked — not when he looks so pretty when you decorate him. Two vicious little clamps bite down on his nipples, chained to the collar around his neck, and a third silvery chain descends to the steel contraption that wraps around his pale cock. (He’s so eager, when you take control like this, that you’ve found it pays to prevent his climax until he’s _really_ begging for it.)

The cock cage lets his balls dangle from it unencumbered, so you turn to them next. The moment that you stroke one finger over his balls, his body twitches with suppressed movement, and a hiss escapes his gritted teeth; it’s clear he remembers all-too-vividly the ways that you’ve tormented them in the past.

He’s not wrong to be afraid. You laugh quietly as he tries to still himself, running your fingertip over the softly furred globes, then pinch up a fold of loose skin — gently, ever so gently. Then, with your free hand, you pick up a clamp, squeeze it open, and let its teeth bite down on the sensitive skin fold. A half-scream tries to rise from Julian’s throat, and he’s shuddering openly now, but you don’t pause in your work — one, two, three, the little clamps bite down on the skin of each balls, six clamps in total.

“Oh, darling,” you murmur, rising up from your handiwork to kiss Julian on the mouth. “I know you’re trying so hard to be good. But you can do this. I know you can.”

His mouth below yours feels loose and wet, slack with desperation, and he submits to your tongue so sweetly that you can’t help but linger there for a minute; one hand teases at the clamps on his chest to elicit a few extra gasps. “I love you,” you whisper to him, and his trembling lips curve into a smile.

“Love you too,” he mouths without speaking aloud, and you glow at how well-trained he is. When you started playing like this, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking a stream of entreaties and gratitude, but you’ve trained him to keep silent on command, knowing that the denial only heightens his urgency.

And speaking of urgency, you have a job to finish. You take the wooden plug from the bedside and smear it with oil, then begin to press it into Julian’s hole, so prettily displayed between his bent legs. A hiss of pain escapes him — this isn’t your smallest toy, and you haven’t prepared him with your fingers first — but no safeword, so you keep pushing it in, slow and steady, until the toy is fully lodged inside him. “Good,” you purr, then take the base of the toy and twist it upward to push hard against his sweet spot, rubbing and pressing against the place that makes him fall apart.

He doesn’t _quite_ scream, this time, but his mouth is wide and gasping as a fish, and his cock’s gone even more rigid within its steel confines. A single clear bead of precum wells up at the tip of his prick, and you let yourself lean down and lick it off him, savoring the salty taste. The press of your tongue makes his hips buck upward despite himself, so you pull away immediately.

“I believe you’re getting a bit too eager, love,” you tease him. You focus your magical energy in one hand and recite the name of _ice_. Your now-frigid fingertips wrap around the steel of his cock cage, chilling it almost instantly, and the sharp cold has an immediate effect on Julian; another half-scream escapes from his mouth, but his shivering cock is no longer straining at its cage. Just for fun, you run your fingers over his balls and down the corded muscle of his thighs, watching goosebumps rise in your wake.

Then you step back and survey your handiwork. Fine tremors still run through Julian, and his face is tilted to the side, gasping for breath as if he’s been running for his life. “You’re being so, so good,” you tell him. “Would you like to taste me?” His nod of assent is almost comically eager.

So you climb up over him, kneeling over his head, and lower yourself until his face presses up against your cunt. The sensation feels so good that you let yourself slide up and down a few times, feeling his nose and lips rub against your ever-so-eager clit, and you groan with the pleasure of it. “Lick me until I come,” you tell him, and his tongue slides up against you to obey.

For a few minutes, you let Julian work up a good rhythm — sucking and nibbling at your clit, licking at your labia, plunging his tongue into you for a deeper taste, then back to focus on your clit again. You fuck his face almost lazily, pushing down until you’re the only thing he can smell and taste, letting your fingers thread into his thick hair and hold his head in place.

But you didn’t set out to make this easy on him, and Julian has gotten so good at eating you out that you know it doesn’t take much attention on his part. So it’s time to heighten the stakes. Without saying a word, you reach over and grab the riding crop that’s been waiting at the bedside, and just as you press your cunt down onto his tongue, you flick the tip of the crop against his steel-caged cock.

A scream vibrates from Julian’s throat directly into your cunt, and you grin. With swift little flicks, you begin to pepper his body with blows: gentle taps on his cock, firmer slaps against his thighs and stomach, a few full-strength blows against his legs, and then the softest teasing brushes over the clamps still biting into the pinched skin of his balls. Whenever the pain gets too distracting and his tongue falters, you grind back down onto him, reminding him of his place.

But you don’t have to do it often; Julian is _ever_ so good for you. Even as his body twitches with the pink afterimages of impact, he obediently suckles and licks at you, the rhythm building with each blow until you come with a throaty cry of bliss. Your climax lasts for several long, delicious seconds, and finally you lift off his face to let him gulp in some fresh air.

(Gods and goddesses, Julian is _gorgeous_ like this. Your juices smear across his reddened face, his lips are swollen with kissing you, and a few locks of his auburn hair are plastered to his forehead with sweat and come. He looks utterly debauched, and utterly delicious.)

“Kiss me,” you murmur, and you bend down to press your lips to his, tasting the tang of your own slickness on his tongue. “I should keep you like this all the time.”

He smiles back at you, a blissed-out grin that says he’d be completely happy with that particular plan. For a moment, you almost regret the blindfold, as much as it helps him descend into the right headspace. You love him so much right now that you want him to _see_ it.

But there are other ways to get your message across. “I’m going to ride you soon,” you promise him. “I’ve had those clamps on your nipples for some time, though. We’d better make sure you have some good blood circulation there, hadn’t we, Doctor?”

He gives you a quiet snort of amusement, and you reach down for the first nipple clamp, then yank it off. You can see the exact moment that feeling returns to his nipple — a full-body twitch convulses him, and he starts to gasp for breath. “That’s it, everything’s all right,” you soothe him, rubbing the tender nipple to get circulation going (and redouble his pain in the process). Then, just as his breathing starts to get under control, you repeat the process with the other nipple: pull off the clamp, stroke his skin through the worst aftershocks of pain.

“Still with me?” you ask, and he nods. “Good boy.” His nipples are reddened and a little distended from the clamps, and you give in to the temptation to lean down and nibble at one of them, biting not-too-gently at the sensitive skin. Julian’s groan is ample reward.

You _did_ promise to ride him, though, and your cunt is eager to be filled, so you focus your attention further down. After removing the clamps from his balls, with deft little movements so swift that he doesn’t have time to scream until they’re already gone, you begin to extricate him from his cock cage. It’s a bit difficult — the cooling effect of your fingers has long since dispersed, and Julian’s as hard as the cage will allow — but with a little manhandling, you manage the job. The spreader bar between his ankles gets moved downward, out of your way

“You’re not allowed to come until I say, remember,” you warn him, and he nods almost too eagerly.

Well then. You position yourself over him, then guide his cock into you at your own pace — inch by careful inch, letting your body adjust around him. You’re so slippery-slick that it doesn’t take long at all until you’re fully seated on him, and this — oh, by the stars, this is _it_. There’s no feeling better than this, better than the sight of Julian between your thighs, laid out and tied up like a gift, thick and eager inside your cunt. You stay in place for a few breaths and let yourself _feel_ him, the contours of his cock as they press against your inner walls; for good measure, you squeeze your muscles there, just to feel him jolt inside you with pleasurable surprise.

But you can’t stay still for long — not with the delicious sight beneath you. Falling into a swift, urgent rhythm, you begin to ride Julian, rocking up and down, up and down. With one hand, you pinch at his nipples, toying with them one by one; with your other hand, you stroke your clit to the rhythm of each thrust, bringing yourself hurdling toward a second climax.

As pressure pounds inside you, you can feel your words dissolving into a breathy babble: “Love this, love your cock in me, love you, oh Julian, yes, _yes more yes more yes_.” His hips echo your thrusts, pushing his cock deeper still, and you can feel the pulse of magic flowing back and forth between you, intoxicating and bright. You feel giddy with power and delight, full to overflowing, and you ride him faster, _faster_ , until the rhythm’s almost dissolving into its peak —

“— _Now._ Come for me,” you tell him, and as you let yourself go and clench around him in climax, you can feel him responding within you, bucking upward, filling you with his cum. You ride out the orgasm in full, to the last shivery aftershock, then let out a peal of breathless, delighted laughter. “That was… you were perfect,” you tell him.

You reach to undo his blindfold, signalling the end of this phase of play, and Julian blinks owlishly at the light, a giddy smile on his own face. “You were — is there a word better than perfect? Whatever it is, you were that. Are that.”

“Oh, love.” You can’t stop smiling as you tug out the plug and unfasten his wrists and ankles, massaging them to get the blood going, then reach for the washcloth beside your bed. With a magical whisper of _heat_ , you swipe the warm, damp cloth over Julian’s face, then down his body, cleansing the sticky traces of sweat and cum. He practically purrs, arching into your touch — and you kiss him for it. Not too long ago, he resisted these moments of aftercare, clearly uncomfortable with receiving the kind of service that he preferred to give. But today, he lets you minister to him without a single complaint.

Once you’re both clean, you curl up against him on the bed. You’ll have to put away all the toys eventually, but that can wait until morning. For now, cradled against the firm muscles of his chest, you’re exactly where you want to be.

* * *

_Your eyes drift closed. And when you open them again, you’re back in that starry void._

_Alone._

_That dream… was it a dream? Or a vision? A hope?_

_Whichever it was, it’s enough to keep you warm for quite some time._


End file.
